Tattoos
by Bionic Egypt
Summary: What does Canada do when he wakes up with a hangover and a tattoo? Well, he calls America and yells at him, of course!


Tattoos

"Ow, my head," Canada groaned when he woke up that morning. He looked around, trying to make sense of everything. Last night was a whirl of colors and lights and music. He was never going drinking with America ever again. He always felt horrible in the morning.

The blonde Canadian slowly got to his feet and stumbled to his closet, trying to find some clothes. As he was pulling on a tee-shirt, Canada noticed something on his arm. It was brown and white and –oh no. Nonononono! For the love of maple, _please_ let it be temporary!

Canada hurried to the bathroom, ignoring the lightheadedness that came with the movement, and grabbed the bottle of rubbing alcohol from under the sink. He quickly poured some on a rag and tried to wash the thing off. No matter how hard he scrubbed, it refused to even smear.

Oh maple. Canada had a tattoo of a bald eagle on his arm.

How did it happen? Yes, he had gotten drunk the night before, but surely he didn't get _that_ drunk. And why a bald eagle of all things? The bird wasn't a symbol of his country, it was–

And then he knew. This was all America's fault! There was no other explanation. Who else would have been able to convince him, the personification of Canada, to get a tattoo of an American staple? Canada scrounged around for his phone, fully intent on giving his brother a piece of his mind.

"_Sup bro?_" America greeted when he picked up.

"Al, why did I wake up with a tattoo of a bad eagle on my arm?" Canada questioned icily.

He heard his brother's nervous laugh. "_Well, you _were_ pretty hammered last night. Maybe you stumbled into a tattoo parlor?_"

"Don't lie, America. I know you had something to do with this."

America sighed. "_Alright, I _might've_ talked you into it_."

"Hoser!"

"_Dude, calm down. It's just a tattoo. You wear hoodies all the time anyway, so no one will ever have to see it_."

Suddenly, an evil little revenge idea popped into the Canadian's mind. It was perfect. And America would feel just guilty enough to go along with it.

"Al," he began slowly.

America didn't like the tone in his voice. "_Yeah?_"

"Meet me at the café in ten minutes."

Canada hung up before America could say another word.

* * *

When America walked into the café, he was greeted with the sight of Canada sitting at a booth, calmly sipping a coffee. He sat down opposite his brother, a wary grin on his face.

"Hey bro," the American greeted. "Why are we here?"

Canada ignored the question, pretending as if his brother hadn't said a word. America sighed, knowing that he just needed to wait this out. The only question was how long he'd have to wait.

By the time the violet eyed man finished his coffee, the blue eyed blonde was getting antsy.

"So why'd you call me here?" America asked yet again. In response, Canada slid a sheet of paper across the table. Curious, America picked it up and examined. It was a full-color printout of a maple leaf.

"What's this f –oh . . ." he trailed off. Canada wanted him to get a tattoo of the maple leaf.

"Let's go," Canada stated calmly, getting up from his seat. America followed his brother out, a bit wary of what exactly was going to happen to him.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

America grinned at the guy who was going to tattoo him. "Yep! Gotta make it up to my bro somehow, right?"

"I guess so," the guy agreed, having no idea what the blonde was talking about. "Alright, here we go."

The next hour was filled with curses, painful hisses, and winces courtesy of one Alfred F. Jones.

When the man finally let America get up, the blonde proudly showed his brother the bright red maple leaf now imprinted on his upper arm, in the exact spot Canada had his tattoo.

"This doesn't completely make up for the eagle, but it's good enough," Canada grinned.

"Hey, how about next time you get a moose and I'll get the Statue of Liberty!" America suggested excitedly.

"No! No more tattoos!"

* * *

**Oh, the plot bunnies that attack me on the way to school. Seriously, WTF was this? It wasn't even a thousand words, much shorter than what I normally write. Oh well. Thanks for reading!**

**~C**


End file.
